


Forever Just A Night

by galerian_ash



Category: Harley Davidson and the Marlboro Man (1991)
Genre: Alley Sex, Friends With Benefits, M/M, Post-Canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-08
Updated: 2016-08-08
Packaged: 2018-08-07 09:10:35
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,101
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7709260
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/galerian_ash/pseuds/galerian_ash
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Another year, another birthday, another quick fuck between old friends. Nothing has changed, and nothing ever will change between them.</p><p>Or so Harley thinks.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Forever Just A Night

**Author's Note:**

  * For [beedekka](https://archiveofourown.org/users/beedekka/gifts).



> I was really excited to see your request for this movie, so I just had to write you a little treat! :)
> 
> The title is borrowed from a line in Don Johnson's "The Last Sound Love Makes" (I couldn't resist the temptation, what can I say).

The hell of it was, Marlboro looked good.

It would've been a different story had he looked awkward or uncomfortable. Somehow, that would have taken the sting out of it. It had been bad enough to pull up close by Marlboro's ranch, getting off his bike for a smoke and for a chance to look around, only to see him walk out the door. Wearing a damn tuxedo, of all things. He'd smiled at the stranger who waited next to a shiny pickup truck, and off they went.

Harley followed.

There was apparently some big shindig being held in town. Probably had something to do with rodeos, judging by the silhouette art on the banners plastered all over the building they stopped at. He watched Marlboro walk up the steps and shake hands with some other guests, watched as their mouths formed the name 'Robert'.

Maybe this was just who Marlboro was, now. Someone who wore fancy clothes, attended nice parties, and went by a normal name.

Harley left his bike and made his way into the alley next to the building. He crouched down, leaning his back against the coarse brick wall. It was dark here, which was good. He didn't want anyone to spot him, and hassle him for hanging around.

Marlboro always told him he thought too damn much. It _would_ be easy to think about it; to convince himself that, this time, Marlboro wouldn't appreciate Harley showing up out of the blue. Easy, yes, but he knew it'd be better to just trust in the man he'd known for what felt like forever. Marlboro had hung on to those old boots, hadn't he? Even when they'd been more duct tape than boot, he had still stubbornly worn them.

Yeah, Marlboro was a loyal guy. It'd be fine.

It was close to midnight when Marlboro finally ventured outside. Harley expected him to be heading home and started to get up, grimacing at the stiffness in his joints. But instead Marlboro sauntered into the alley. He lit a cigarette and tipped his head back, blowing the smoke up at the distant stars.

"Figured you would've quit by now. Again," he added, smiling.

If he'd expected to surprise Marlboro, he would've been disappointed. A slight stiffening of his body was the only reaction Harley got out of him.

He walked up to Marlboro, reached out and plucked the cigarette from his lips. He brought it up to his own mouth, holding Marlboro's gaze, and took a long drag from it before flicking it away.

"Cutting it a bit close, aren't you?" Marlboro asked.

"Hm?"

"Day's almost over."

It was kinda sad, the way Marlboro saw straight through him. "Still enough time to wish you a happy birthday," he said, before spreading his hands in an apologetic gesture. "No gift, though. Hope you're not too disappointed."

Marlboro's eyes narrowed. His hand slowly lifted to grab hold of Harley's jacket, tugging once. Harley stepped in close — this was an old story, after all. He knew exactly how it went, no verbal instructions needed.

Funny how familiar something could feel even when he hadn't experienced it in ages. Then again, kissing Marlboro was always like that. He wondered if Marlboro felt the same way. It wasn't like they had ever spoken about this; this thing they had going. Sometimes they just fell into bed together, that was all.

That was all it _should_ be.

Of course, Harley knew better than that. Not that he was about to admit it or anything. There'd be no point. Marlboro had set down roots, and he... He was the same drifter he'd always been. Didn't matter that he'd grown sick and tired of it years ago, or that he did it mostly because he had no idea what else to do. None of that made any difference. It was too late to change now.

Marlboro was the one who first broke the kiss. He pulled back a bit, panting slightly. "That'll do," he muttered. "I'll accept that as my gift."

"Seems kinda cheap to me," Harley replied. "Think I can do better." He moved his leg forward, shoving it between Marlboro's legs and pushing him up against the wall at the same time.

"You wanna do it in an alley? That's real classy."

Harley moved his leg, pointedly nudging Marlboro's hard-on. "You've got the market cornered on classy. Those are some nice threads, man."

"Oh, shut up."

Harley smirked. He went to work on the zipper, but quickly discovered that there was a world of difference between Marlboro's usual old jeans and these fancy pants. Annoyed, he gave it a good yank, and was doubly rewarded by the sound of cloth tearing and the pants opening up.

"Goddammit," Marlboro swore. "They had a hook-and-bar closure, Harley. _Had._ "

Harley let his fingers slip underneath the boxers, grinning when Marlboro went from bitching to growling softly. He kept his touch light, teasing, before pulling away.

As much as he was enjoying this, it was a bad idea. It wasn't as if he wanted to ruin things for Marlboro, and if someone else from the party came out here... It wouldn't end well, to say the least.

He glanced around before turning back to Marlboro, intending to suggest that they took it somewhere else, only for the words to die in his throat. Marlboro was stroking himself, slow and languid, all the while staring at Harley with that intent look he got sometimes.

Good intentions blown to hell — he was only human — he spat in his palm. Marlboro raised an eyebrow at that, before letting his hand fall down to brace against the wall. Harley cupped his cock, spit slick against the heated skin, and captured his mouth in a fierce kiss as he started jacking Marlboro off for real.

It was quick and dirty, because somewhere in the back of his mind was the notion of taking Marlboro to bed, and taking his sweet time with this. Harley wanted to lick every scar, touch every part of his body, and reach every secret crevice inside of him.

A tremble passed through Marlboro's body. His knees buckled for a brief moment, letting the leg that Harley still had wedged between his take the weight of his body. "Yeah, that's it," Harley whispered. "Come for me. Wanna see you let go, lose control. For me."

Marlboro came with a muffled curse, come splattering on the black tuxedo jacket. Harley refrained from kissing him again, however much he wanted to. It would've given too much away. He did allow himself the luxury of tucking Marlboro in, touch as gentle as he could possibly make it. He zipped up the pants, but there wasn't much he could do about the broken closure.

"You might wanna keep a grip on them pants. Just in case, you know, so they don't slide right off your ass."

Marlboro looked down, and it was easy to see the exact moment that the state of his jacket registered. His face went from sated and slightly dazed, to pissed as hell, in the blink of an eye.

"You dickhead!" he snapped. "Why don't you wreck my fucking bow tie too, while you're at it? It's the only thing I got left."

"Hey now, ain't like I did it on purpose. And the jacket was all you. See?" He pointed at his own cock, still hard and straining against his leather pants.

"Yeah, well, you're shit outta luck if you expect me to do anything about that." Marlboro grimaced as he made an attempt to wipe off the mess. He only succeeded in smearing it worse.

Harley sighed, trying to adjust himself. His pants were _not_ made for hard-ons.

Marlboro looked at him, exasperation slowly turning into something else. Harley would've liked to think it was something akin to fondness, but logically he knew it was nothing more than a combination of lingering afterglow and the effects of him probably having had a few drinks at the party. "Look," Marlboro said, "let's just go home. Where's your bike?"

"Over there."

"Come on, then."

They walked in silence at first, but a few snatches of laughter drifted their way when they passed the building and made Harley hesitate. "Wait a second. What about that guy who picked you up? He might stop by your place to check up on you, if you just disappear."

Marlboro stared at him. "You saw that? Shit, Harley, how long have you been waiting out here?"

"Forget that. Were you getting a ride back with him or not?"

They reached his bike, but instead of answering Marlboro just went up to it, fingers gliding over the Harley Davidson logo. "You're not jealous, are you?" he asked.

"Be pretty damn stupid, if I was."

"Maybe. But that's not an answer."

Fed up with whatever game it was they were playing, Harley pushed him aside and got on the bike. "Not like you answered, either."

Marlboro lifted his head, attention shifting from the logo to Harley. "He ain't gonna come looking for me. I'm all yours, Harley."

That was a lie. He had never belonged to Harley. Not truly. Still, he forced a smile, and nodded once. "Great. Then let's get going."

For a moment it seemed like he wanted to say something more, but in the end Marlboro just climbed on behind him, arms going around his waist. He pressed in close, close.

It took Harley way too long to realize that Marlboro wasn't holding on to him so tightly out of affection, or want, or need, or any of the other ridiculous reasons he'd almost fooled himself into believing. No, Marlboro was no doubt just doing his best to rub the come off on the back of Harley's jacket.

He was tired as hell by the time they pulled up in front of the ranch. Made sense, as he'd been on the road most of the day. It wouldn't be hard to get in the mood again — all it took for that was one look at Marlboro — but he suspected it wouldn't be a good idea. He might slip up, do or say something he shouldn't.

He trailed behind as Marlboro made his way deeper into the house, shedding his clothes as he went. Harley caught a glimpse of a scar on Marlboro's arm, the one left by his bullet. It had almost turned white, a stark contrast with the rest of his tanned skin.

"Hey, Marlboro," he said, "I think I'm gonna call it a night."

"Sure. I was up at the crack of dawn, so I'm pretty beat anyway. Sleep sounds good to me, if that's what you want too."

Harley located the couch and sank down into it. It was a bit small, but he'd slept in a lot worse places.

"Harley?"

"What?"

The sound of footsteps, and then Marlboro walked into the room. He was barefoot and shirtless; only thing that remained of his tuxedo outfit was the torn pants. "Why are you out here?"

"You mind if I sleep on your couch?" Harley asked, frowning. He wasn't about to sleep on the floor, for fuck's sake.

"Something wrong with the bed?" Marlboro shot back, a matching frown on his face.

They stared at each other for a while. "We've never just slept together," Harley finally mumbled, breaking the silence. They'd been in bed plenty of times, but _sleep_ was not one of the things they'd gotten up to.

Marlboro's gaze softened. "My old man used to tell me, before he left this shitty world, that you should sit up and take notice, the day you found someone you'd be just as happy screwing as you'd be to merely sleep next to."

"...He really said that?"

"Does it matter? _I'm_ saying it. To you, right here and now." Marlboro raised his arm and held out his hand.

It reminded Harley of that rooftop in Vegas, when he'd been trying to persuade Marlboro to jump off. 'Take my hand,' he'd said. Marlboro hadn't, but he'd still followed — and now he was the one asking. Asking Harley to take the plunge, and perhaps even silently asking him to stay.

The stiff set of his shoulders betrayed the fact that he wasn't as calm and cool as he appeared to be. It was a glimpse of insecurity that Harley wasn't used to seeing, but there was still a clear challenge in Marlboro's eyes.

Well. Harley wasn't the type to turn down a challenge, was he? Heart racing, he reached out and took the offered hand.


End file.
